After Martin, silence felt louder.
Juhoon had always loved quiet places—libraries, empty streets at night, the hush between lines of poetry.
But this silence was different.
It was the kind that followed unfinished sentences.
He kept expecting Martin to appear somewhere unexpected.
At the end of a hallway.
Across a café table.
Sitting on the library floor between poetry shelves like the first day they met.
But Martin didn't.
Weeks passed.
Spring turned into early summer.
And Juhoon learned something strange about heartbreak—life didn't pause for it.
People still congratulated him on his writing.
Professors still praised his work.
Literary magazines kept emailing him.
"You're writing something new, right?" one editor asked over the phone.
Juhoon stared at the blank page in front of him.
"Yes," he lied.
The truth was he hadn't written anything since the breakup.
Every story he started drifted back to Martin.
Not intentionally.
Just inevitably.
Like gravity.
One night he opened his old notebook and reread the first poem he'd written about him.
It was messy and dramatic and embarrassingly obvious.
But the last line still hurt:
Some people enter your life like a story you know will end badly, and you read it anyway.
Juhoon closed the notebook.
He wondered if Martin had ever read it.
Or if he had missed the point entirely.
YOU ARE READING
The Manuscript (Juhoon's Perspective + Marhoon)
RomanceThis sequel retells the aftermath of the relationship from Juhoon's perspective. After the breakup, Juhoon finds himself surrounded by success as a writer, but haunted by the memory of Martin. The person who once inspired his poetry becomes the one...
